One-shots

by Queen_of_Hell1126

Summary:

Short One-shots that I was requested

Chapter 1: Angel Dust x Human Witch! Reader

Summary:

Anonymous asked:
Could you write a platonic relationship between human!witch!reader and Angel Dust who sees them like a little sibling?

The reader often go to in Hell to se Angel and comfort him when he has a bad day. But sometimes there is Angel to comfort them when they have a bad day (like when they work about a spell that doesn’t come out; or when they must tell a lie to their family about their magical skills; or when they run away for their life because some demons that want to use reader’s power and they get out from this situation with some wounds).

Thank you and have a nice day.

The knock at the door was too soft for this place. This hotel wasn’t built for quiet things.

Angel Dust blinked slowly, cheek mashed into a pillow, the metallic taste of blood still thick in his mouth. The room smelled like cheap perfume and Valentino’s cologne clinging to his skin like a curse.

The door creaked open.

“Angel?” Your voice was soft, hesitant.

He groaned and rolled onto his back, wincing as his bruises screamed. “If you’re a hallucination, I ain’t got the energy to be flattered.”

You stepped inside. Your dress was torn, dark with dried blood at the hem. One eye was swollen, and you cradled your side as you moved, limping with the stiffness of someone who hadn’t stopped running until collapsing.

Angel blinked. You looked even worse than he did. Which was saying something. “What the hell happened to you, kid?”

You gave a ghost of a smirk, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Bad day.”

“No kidding.” He sat up slowly, every muscle protesting. 

You crossed the room to the chair near his vanity. “You’re bleeding, by the way.”

He watched you sink into the chair with a small gasp, then clutch your ribs like the act of sitting might break you. Something twisted in him—not pity, exactly, but a sudden, sharp sense of oh, no… This one’s not built for this place. Can a witch go to heaven?

“Why’d you come here?” he asked, quieter now.

“Didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

He nodded once. That, he understood all too well.

You looked around the room like you were seeing past the glitter and junk and makeup-stained mirrors. “I just… needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe.”

Angel’s jaw clenched. “This ain’t safe.”

“It’s safer than what I left.”

He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to. He could read it in the way your shoulders curled inward, in the way your hand trembled when you thought he wasn't watching.

And that’s when it hit him—not like a punch, but like a quiet realization that settled heavy in his chest…maybe you were the version of himself he wished someone had protected back when it all started going wrong.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he muttered, more to himself than you.

“I’m not.” Your voice cut through the silence, gentle but sure. “I came to you, didn’t I?”

He looked up, startled. You met his gaze, and for a second he saw past the bruises and blood to the person underneath—resilient, stubborn, aware of your damage, but not drowning in it.

Angel pushed himself off the bed with a grunt and limped toward you. “Alright. Up.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You’re not sleeping in that chair. You’ll cramp up and your ribs’ll heal crooked or some crap. Come on.”

You hesitated, then let him help you stand. They moved slowly together—two broken bodies sharing weight as they shuffled to the bed.

You sat first, then curled onto your side carefully. Angel followed, staying on top of the blanket, close enough to be near, far enough to not overwhelm her.

They lay there in the half-darkness. They didn’t talk much after that. The pain still hung between them—old, bitter, and fresh all at once but now, it wasn’t something either of them had to carry alone.

Angel shifted slightly, reaching toward the nightstand with a wince. “Here,” he said, grabbing a small, half-melted jar of ointment. “Use this on the worst of it. Won’t fix everything, but it’ll take the edge off.”

You took it silently, fingers brushing his, then turned and dabbed some onto his shoulder first. He hissed at the sting.

“Sorry,” you murmured, but there was a small, amused glint in your eyes.

“Sadist,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Then you passed it back, and Angel gently lifted the edge of your dress, careful not to press too hard on your ribs. Your skin was bruised purple and blue, like spilled ink across a page. He didn’t say anything. Just worked quietly, his touch uncharacteristically tender.

“You’re good at this,” you said.

He snorted. “Yeah, well. Turns out patching up other people is easier than doing it to myself.”

From the foot of the bed came a soft, familiar squeak. Fat Nuggets had waddled in, pink nose twitching, eyes shining with concern. He scrambled up the edge of the bed with surprising determination for such a tiny creature and plopped himself between them like he was on a mission.

“Hey, buddy,” Angel murmured, rubbing behind the piglet’s ear. “Didn’t forget about ya.”

Fat Nuggets let out another gentle squeal and curled himself against Angel’s side—then, after a moment, wiggled halfway onto the witch’s chest like he was claiming both of them. You blinked down at him in surprise.

“…He’s warm,” you said, stroking his tiny back.

They lay there, the three of them tangled in silence. Fat Nuggets let out a soft, sleepy grunt and snuggled deeper, pressing himself between their bodies.

Angel glanced over at you. “Guess we’re both taking care of each other tonight, huh?”

You nodded, eyes drifting shut. “Guess so.”

Angel leaned his head back against the pillow, letting the warmth of your presence and the soft weight of Fat Nuggets ease something tight in his chest. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel completely wrecked. Not fixed, but held together —by warmth, and by someone who saw through the mask.

And as sleep slowly crept in, he let it. Because tonight, he wasn’t alone. And neither were you.

Chapter 2: Demon! Husk x Anxious! Reader

Summary:

Anonymous asked:
i would like to have a full demon husk x anxious reader where the reader gets lost in the hotel and starts to have a panic attack until she finds a unknown room when she opens it she finds a giant winged quadrupedal cat she gets scared but then she finds out its husk he soon comforts her by letting her cuddle up with him

Notes:

Thank you for this ask! I really hope I’ve written and represented the anxious reader well—it's something I wanted to handle with care and authenticity.

You shouldn’t have left your room. You told yourself it would be quick. Just a trip to the kitchen for some water. Nothing more. But the hotel… it never made sense. Not really. Now you were lost.

You turned down another corridor that didn’t look familiar, then another, the  lighting flickering overhead in unpredictable pulses. Your steps grew faster. Louder.

Why didn’t you wake someone up? Husk would’ve known the way. Angel would’ve been happy to help. Charlie— No. You didn’t want to bother anyone.

But now, the realization was sinking in. You had no idea where you were, and no idea how to get back.

Your breathing hitched. You reached a dead-end. You turned on your heel and stumbled back the way you came—

Your chest tightened. Your breath came in short gasps. What if you never found your room again? What if you were stuck here forever? What if—

Your thoughts spiralled, drowning out everything else. Your vision blurred as tears welled up. The air grew heavier, pressing in on your shoulders like invisible hands. The panic swallowed you whole.

All you could do was tremble. Your limbs moved before your brain did.

Somehow, in the haze, your hand found a doorknob. Cold metal bit into your palm as you gripped it without thinking. The door wasn’t there a second ago—or maybe it was, and you just hadn’t seen it through the blur of panic and tears.

Didn’t matter. You needed to get away . Anywhere but here.

The door creaked open. You stumbled forward, half-falling through the threshold, and the door clicked shut behind you. You curled into yourself, arms wrapped tight around your knees, forehead pressed to the floor. The tears spilled over freely now. Heavy, hot, and aching.

Your heart beat out of rhythm. Your lungs still didn’t work right. The silence around you was thick and strange, but at least it wasn’t spinning. At least it didn’t move —

Then, something did. A breath, which was not yours. Followed by a soft thud. Then another. Something was here .

Your head snapped up, vision still watery. You wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt, expecting maybe one of the hotel staff. But what you saw…Wasn’t anything you expected.

A massive, winged creature curled in the centre of the dim room—its fur a deep, smoky black with streaks of glowing ember-red. Its tail flicked once, like a lazy cat’s, but heavy enough to make the floor thrum. Huge claws flexed in the soft light. Wings stretched part way open in the shadows, sleek like a raven’s and big enough to blot out the ceiling.

It raised its head slowly, and locked molten gold eyes with yours.

You froze. Panic flared again, but this time it was different. Not dizzy and cold, but hot, instinctual fear. Your body screamed to run, but your legs wouldn’t move.

The creature stared. Then softly, confused, it spoke. “...Kid?”

Your heart stopped. You knew that voice. It was deeper, rougher, laced with gravel and sleep but it was him. Somehow. That was Husk.

You blinked hard, wiping the tears away again as if that would fix your vision. But no, he was still there. “…Husk?” you croaked.

He blinked slowly, his massive ears twitching.

“Yeah.” He sounded unsure, maybe even guilty. “Didn’t think anyone could find this room.”

His eyes didn’t judge. His presence didn’t press down on you. If anything, it was the opposite. In his shadow, the pressure lifted.

He tilted his head. “…You okay?”

Your bottom lip trembled. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to lie.

But your body betrayed you, a tiny sob escaping before you could stop it. You looked down, embarrassed, shoulders curled in again like you could fold yourself into nothing.

Husk shifted. Massive but careful, he lay down again. “…C’mere,” he said quietly.

Your heart jumped. You hesitated but your legs moved anyway. Slowly, you shuffled closer. When you finally reached him, pressing your shaking body into the warmth of his fur, he exhaled, long and steady. “Yeah,” he rumbled. “Just like that. You’re alright.”

Your hands still trembled. Your lungs still stuttered every few breaths. Your mind kept trying to drag you back into the spiral.

Husk noticed. “Don’t need to talk,” he said. “Just listen. You hear me breathin’?”

You nodded weakly against him. “Good. Match it. In through your nose. Slow.”

You tried to follow. It caught in your throat halfway, but you pushed through it.

“There ya go. Out now. Real slow.”

His breath left him in a deep, steady exhale, and you tried again. This time it came easier. The tightness in your chest gave just a little.

“That’s it,” he rumbled. “Just stay with me. Keep doin’ that.”

And you did.

He kept breathing slow, like he was lending you a rhythm. Your shoulders started to ease. Your fists unclenched. Your heart didn’t feel like it was slamming against your ribs anymore.

“…That’s better,” he said, voice quieter now. Almost fond. “You’re doin’ real good, sweetheart.”

You flushed at that— sweetheart . It didn’t sound like flirting. Just warmth. 

The room stayed quiet, save for your breathing and the soft rustle of his wings.

Then, gently, he shifted. You tensed for a second but then his massive wing unfolded with a soft sweep, warm and dark, like a curtain. He curled it around you, pulling you into the safety of his body. It was like being wrapped in night, heavy and comforting and safe.

You rested your cheek against his chest and finally let out a shaky breath. “…Thank you,” you whispered.

Husk huffed softly. “Ain’t nothin’.”

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, held against him, the world forgotten. But eventually, your eyes began to close, heavy with exhaustion.

And just before sleep took you, you felt his voice again. “I gotcha. Just rest.”

Chapter 3: Vox x Video Game Overlord! Reader

Summary:

drpepperdemon asked:
hello! this is gonna be kinda specific but could you do hcs for vox with a f!reader who’s the overlord of video games? except the catch is the video game overlord refuses to join the vees and instead chooses to be independent/go rogue, so vox basically has beef with her (beef that ends up blossoming into romantic feelings)

this is my first time ever making a request so im kinda nervous lmao

Notes:

Aww, no need to be nervous at all!! 🥺💖 I’m honored that you chose to make your first request here! Seriously, thank you for trusting me with it—I’ll do my absolute best to make it something you’ll love!! 🫶 Lol this idea has so much potential I'm thinking of making this a series in future.

📺 Vox hates that you're not only powerful but also relevant. Video games are modern media, which means you're encroaching on his territory.

📺 He first approaches you with a “friendly offer” to join the Vees, framed as mutually beneficial but you shoot him down. The fact that you refused his offer, of all people, bruises his pride deeply. 

📺 You started streaming your own gaming content and digital tournaments across Hell, pulling views away from Vox’s network. He retaliates with smear campaigns, glitching your signals, and snide commentary on live broadcasts.

📺 From that point on, it's full-on tech turf war. Glitches in broadcasts. Hacked commercials. Twitch streams hijacked to roast each other. 

📺 Velvette lives for the drama. Valentino doesn’t care unless it affects ratings, but Vel definitely has a betting pool on when the two of you will kiss or kill each other.

📺 Even while "hating" you, Vox always knows where your next game drop is, how many views you're pulling, and who you're allied with. He plays it off as "strategic surveillance” Lies.

📺 Vox actually plays one of your hardest games and beats it. You’re surprised. Turns out, the bastard’s good. He respects your talent, even if he’ll die before admitting it out loud.

📺 Vox uses his control over screens to throw shade in the most public ways possible. Glitching your streams, crashing your online events. You retaliate with your games, mocking him: a pixelated TV-headed mini-boss called “Box.”

📺 He respects you, even if he won’t say it. Vox won’t admit it, but your refusal to bow makes you more alluring. She’s a player in the game of Hell who isn’t afraid to go solo and he loves a challenge.

📺 They argue like divorced tech moguls. Loud, fast, sarcastic, and laced with lowkey admiration. He thinks she’s arrogant. You think he’s an egomaniac. They’re both right. But somehow, no one else ever seems to get them quite like the other does.

📺 The first time they kiss, it’s mid-fight. Voices raised, sparks flying—literally and figuratively. One of them says something, and the other grabs them by the collar and shuts them up. It’s hot. It’s messy. It’s confusing as hell. They both pretend it didn’t happen. Until it happens again.

📺 Everyone around them senses it. There’s this undeniable tension in the air when they’re in the same room. The only ones pretending it’s not happening are them.

📺 Vox studies her game mechanics when no one’s looking. He admires how much innovation she puts into them. Your games aren’t just entertainment—they’re expression. Art. You secretly watches his old broadcasts too. Not just to study him—but because he’s actually magnetic. Charisma like that can’t be taught.

📺 Most of Hell either fears or worships him. She does neither. And somehow, that makes him want to win her over more. Not out of spite but out of this strange, aching need to be seen by you.

📺 Vox hates when other overlords flirt with her. Not because he cares (obviously), but because they’re beneath you. You deserve better. Smarter. Stronger. Sexier. Like… him.

📺 You get territorial when Vox works with other tech demons.

“Oh, so you’re letting that glitch-ridden clown into your systems now?”

“What, feeling left out?” Vox smirks.

“No. I just don’t like watching you lower your standards.”

📺 Their fans ship them hard.

Vox and you have both cultivated online cults—so their “rivalry” gets analyzed, meme’d, and turned into fanfiction by Hell’s online communities. They pretend to hate it. They both secretly read it. 

📺 Ultimate hate sex

📺 Even if/when they get over their pride, and admit to their feelings, you still wouldn’t join the Vees, and Vox will respect that. Though Hell will often see more collaborations between you two.

Chapter 4: Charlie (& others) x Morningstar! Reader HCs

Summary:

wolf-oc asked:
Hi👋 so hope you’re having a good day/night but anygays so I was wondering if you could do some platonic head canons for hazbin hotel crew and in particular Charlie and Lucifer with a reader who’s Charlie’s younger sister and Lucifer’s daughter who was kidnapped when she was really young like maybe five or four and she has just escaped form the beings who kidnapped her and like she finds out about the hotel goes there cause she sees the add for the hotel realise that Charlie is and so goes to the hotel and if you want to a oneshot maybe you could do Charlie and reader meeting again after so long or you could do head canons it’s your choice thanks🙏for reading this and if you decide to do this

Charlie

👑 Charlie instantly feels a gut-deep connection when she first sees you, even before realizing who you are.

👑 Once the truth is out, she becomes super protective: constantly making sure you're eating, sleeping, and not pushing yourself.

👑 She tears up every time you call her sister when talking about her, no matter how casual.

👑 Has made it her personal mission to help you heal—offering gentle support and never pressuring you to open up.

👑 Charlie becomes hyper-aware of your emotions. If your smile falters for even a second, she’s instantly by your side asking, “Hey, are you okay?”

👑 She tries to make up for lost time by organizing little 'Sister Days' where it’s just the two of you—movie marathons, painting each other’s nails, karaoke duets.

👑 If you have nightmares (understandable after years of captivity), Charlie will either stay up with you until you fall asleep again or sneak into your room to sleep on the floor beside your bed.

👑 She lets you help with the hotel to give you purpose and distraction but never pressures you. You’re given the softest, easiest tasks until you say you're ready for more.

👑 Charlie keeps a secret scrapbook she’s filling with new memories of you—photos and crafts made by you.

👑 You two sing together, harmonizing naturally. Even Angel Dust comments on how “freaky in-sync” you sound.

Lucifer

🍎 Lucifer is a wreck on the inside but hides it well. The moment he first holds you again, his composure cracks—he clutches you so tightly like he’s trying to make up for every year lost. He's absolutely wrecked with guilt for not finding you.

🍎 He can’t sleep for nights after you return, haunted by what happened to you. Sometimes, others find him sitting in the hallway outside your room, just making sure you’re still there.

🍎 He never pushes. He asks if he can hug you. If he can sit next to you. If you want to talk.

🍎 He shows you your old belongings—letters he wrote to you as a child but never sent, your baby blanket, a photo of you in his arms.

🍎 He often calls you “my little star.”

🍎 Tells stories of what you were like as a baby to everyone in the hotel (Charlie laughs; you groan).

🍎 If anyone threatens you…Lucifer is a terrifying force when it comes to protecting his family.

🍎 Lucifer tries to give you space, but the moment you say “Dad?” with uncertainty, his heart shatters.

🍎 He won’t admit it, but he brags about you to everyone. He’s worse than a soccer mom.

Hazbin Hotel Crew

🩶 Vaggie is cautiously supportive. She wants to make sure you're safe and emotionally stable before getting too close. She warms up gradually.

🩶 Teaches you self-defense “just in case”.

🩶 Shares inside jokes with you about Charlie’s overly-enthusiastic pep talks.

🩶 You get the most structured support from her: meal times, sleep checks, grounding exercises.

🕷️ Angel Dust calls you “Mini-Morningstar” and dotes on you like a dramatic older brother.

🕷️ Shows you around the more chaotic parts of Hell with flair and caution (“We’re not goin’ past this alley, got it? Even I don’t mess with that corner.”)

🕷️ He teaches you how to swear in five different languages—Charlie nearly has a heart attack.

🕷️ Secretly very gentle with you. If he sees you flinch or zone out, he gets real quiet and just sits near you until you’re okay again.

🕷️ Very loyal to you and would throw hands if anyone disrespects you.

♣️ Husk pretends not to care, but lowkey watches over you like a hawk.

♣️ Gives you a rigged deck of cards and teaches you how to cheat, and when you've fun with these tricks, he's secretly proud.

♣️ You’re the only person allowed to hug him. He grumbles but always lets it happen.

🪡 Niffty tries to be helpful 24/7—cleans your room constantly, even when you don’t want her to.

🪡 Bakes cookies when you’re sad, sometimes setting the oven on fire.

🪡 Has 1,000 questions about your childhood and your magic and your favorite color and—

📻 Alastor finds your survival fascinating. Wants to know what you learned, how you coped, what kind of strength it took.

📻 He’s impressed by your resilience. If you share any dark humor or deadpan sarcasm, he’s delighted.

📻 He will try to use whatever he gains from your story - but really, he’s not able to do much with your family always hovering around you.

Chapter 5: Chapter Five

Summary:

Hi this is my first non anonymous request on this blog may I please request a human husk x shy sweet reader loosely based on princess and the frog were reader finds husk in cat from and takes him in she soon hears husk talking and finds out that he is the casino owner who disappeared but husk tells her the truth that he was cursed by alastor to be a cat after a bad bet and he didn't tell husk how to break the curse reader asked him to stay with her until they find the way to break the curse after a few days they get to know each other and husk soon falls in love with her one day she encounters alastor and pleas with him if there is a way to break the spell alastor Says that a Kiss of love will break it soon reader tells husk about what alastor says and she kissed husk on the forehead and he turns back to human to say thank you husk soon ask reader for a date

You had wandered out onto your porch with a cup of tea when you saw the fluffiest, most miserable-looking black cat limping across your front steps—his fur matted, one ear bent slightly, and the biggest scowl you’d ever seen on a feline face.

“Oh no,” you gasped softly. “You poor thing…”

You knelt and reached out a gentle hand, and to your surprise, the cat didn’t scratch or hiss. He just flopped over with a groan like life had officially defeated him.

“Great,” the cat muttered under his breath. “From a gambler to a damn house pet.”

Your eyes widened. “Did… did you just talk?”

The cat froze. “…No.”

“…Yes you did!”

With a groan and a flick of his tail, the cat sat up and looked you dead in the eyes. “Alright, look, kid. I ain’t a real cat. I’m Husk. Used to run the biggest casino this side of Hell until I made a stupid bet with a bastard named Alastor. Now I’m stuck like this.”

“Alastor… the radio demon?” you whispered, nervously glancing over your shoulder like he might be listening.

“Yeah,” Husk growled. “He cursed me for losing a bet. Didn’t say how to break it either. Real fun guy.”

Your heart ached for him, and something about him made you want to help. “You can stay with me… until we figure out how to break the curse.”

His eyes flicked to you in surprise. “You’d really let me crash here?”

You smiled sweetly and nodded. “You look like you need a warm place and someone to talk to.”

 

Over the next few days, Husk settled in—grumbling the whole way—but you could tell he was secretly grateful. You gave him real meals, talked to him even when he just grunted in response, and even gave him a cozy spot by the fireplace. You started to like the sarcasm and your talks with him.

And Husk… well, he hadn’t expected you. So sweet, soft-spoken, patient. You made him feel like maybe he wasn’t so broken after all.

Some nights, he’d curl up beside you, his feline form breathing softly as you hummed songs or read books aloud. He never said anything about it, but those were the moments he treasured most.

*

Then came the day you met him.

You’d gone out to town and accidentally wandered into the wrong alleyway, where a chilling voice rang out behind you. “My, my, such a sweet little thing… What brings you to this part of Hell?”

Your blood turned cold. “…Alastor.” You swallowed. “Please… I know what you did to Husk. Is there a way to break his curse?”

He chuckled lowly, eyes dancing with amusement. “Ah, so you’ve made a friend of my little feline failure. How quaint.” His smile sharpened. “Well, I suppose… there is a way. Curses of the heart are tricky things. Only a true kiss of love will break it. But love’s such a rare little thing, isn’t it?”

*

You returned home, clutching your chest, your heart racing. Husk was asleep on the couch, one paw over his face. You approached slowly and knelt down, gently brushing your fingers over his fur.

“Husk,” you whispered. He blinked open an eye. “Alastor… told me how to break the curse.”

He perked up.

“It’s… a kiss of love,” you said, cheeks glowing with shyness. “I don’t know if it’ll work but…”

You leaned forward and kissed him softly on the forehead.

For a moment, nothing happened. Well, what a way to break your heart indirectly.

Then the room pulsed with warmth and magic, and before your eyes, his body shimmered with golden light—growing taller, reshaping, until he was no longer a cat… but a sinner cat…?

“Holy shit…” he muttered, staring at his hands. “I’m back.”

You stared, mouth slightly open. “You’re… You’re you again…”

He looked at you, something tender in his expression. “You did that… You really…”

You nodded. “Guess it means…”

Husk laughed—a deep, warm sound that wrapped around your heart like velvet. “Well damn… guess I’m the luckiest cursed bastard in the world.”

He reached out, gently taking your hand. “So… now that I’m not a housecat anymore… would you maybe… wanna go on a date with me?”

Your face lit  up in a soft smile. “I’d love to.”

 

Chapter 6: Lucifer x Wife! Reader

Summary:

Anonymous asked:
hi there! sorry if this is really specific ;; but, would i be able to request Lucifer with New Wife Reader who's similar to Yor Forger? when faced with any horrors in Hell, she's unafraid and unflinching and has no problems utterly tearing other to shreds- but when it comes to being a wife and step mother? she's very awkward and anxious and tries SO HARD for her husband and new daughter because she genuinely loves them so much? she's just super clumsy and shaky and doesn't think she will ever hold a candle to Lillith.

Notes:

OMG!! I loved doing this! Thank you for such a great ask❤️💕

Screams had long faded into silence, and all that remained were the twitching corpses on the front steps. A massacre.

Lucifer strolled forward, and there she was.

Her gloves were soaked in blood, but her face remained calm—serene, even. Her posture poised like a dancer in the aftermath of a show.

“Darling,” Lucifer greeted with his usual showman’s lilt, “I do believe this is the third welcome party you’ve ‘handled’ this week.”

You stood up stiffly, brushing your hands on your bloodied skirt, trying (and failing) to appear composed. “They—they said something awful about Charlie,” you muttered, eyes flicking to the ground. “I didn’t like that.”

Lucifer’s eyes sparkled.

“I’d be concerned if you did,” he said fondly, stepping closer. “You’re terribly efficient.”

You glanced up at him nervously, hands suddenly twisting together. Now came the part that always made your stomach drop. 

He offered his arm, the perfect gentleman. “Shall we go in?”

You hesitated. “Do you think she’ll ever like me?”

Lucifer tilted his head, studying your anxious expression.

“I think she already does,” he said. “She just doesn’t know how to show it yet. Much like you. You’re hard not to love.”

Your throat tightened, and you took his arm with shaky fingers, his magic cleaning you up, as he led you gently toward the hotel.

This was your first family tea with his daughter.

Family. The word made your stomach twist in a way a beheaded demon never could.

The table was already set.

Three chairs.

Three cups.

Three spoons.

Oh no.

Your eyes drifted to the empty seat beside his and the one across from it.

Her seat. Charlie’s. Raised by the Queen of Hell herself.

And then… there was you. An outsider. A killer. A nobody. You didn’t even know which fork to use. You’d stabbed someone with one once, but that probably wasn’t relevant here.

You felt your throat tighten as a sickening thought crawled up your spine. You will never be her.

Lilith. She was a legend. Charlie’s mother. A goddess among demons. Elegant, adored, graceful in ways you couldn’t even mimic without tripping over your own feet.

Lucifer turned to you with a warm smile, “Come along, my dear,” he said, gesturing toward the parlour. “Tea time awaits. Family bonding, remember?”

You froze. “Lucifer, I—I don’t think I can do this.”

He stopped mid-stride, trying to understand. “What is it, dear?”

You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve. “She doesn’t like me. I’m not... I’m not her mother. I’m not Lilith.”

There it was. The truth dragged trembling out of your throat.

Your voice cracked. “I don’t even know how to be a mother, or a wife. I’m just some monster who’s good at killing things. And she—Lilith—she was perfect. You loved her. Everyone did.”

For a long moment, Lucifer said nothing. Just looked at you—his expression unreadable, the light from the stained-glass windows painting him in kaleidoscope reds and golds.

Then he stepped forward.

He gently took your hands in his, raising them to his lips. “I did love Lilith,” he said, soft and true. “ But she’s not you.”

You opened your mouth, but he cut you off with a smile—not smug or dazzling, but heartbreakingly kind. He leaned in just a little closer, voice lowering into something warm and private.

“Charlie doesn’t need another Lilith. And I don’t want another Lilith. I want you. Our family is odd, messy, but it’s ours. And she’ll see that eventually.”

You stared at him, shaking slightly, heart pounding louder than any battlefield.

“…But what if I ruin it?” you whispered.

Lucifer grinned. “Then we’ll ruin it together, darling. I’m trying, just like you, dear.”

He offered his arm again. This time, you took it with both hands, holding on tighter than you meant to.

“Let’s go meet our daughter,” he said, eyes twinkling. You nodded, still terrified, but maybe a little less alone.

*

Lucifer sat at the head of it all, one leg crossed over the other, while Charlie sat stiffly to his left, as if unsure what to say. You sat on Lucifer’s right, knees tightly together, hands locked in your lap like you were awaiting a trial.

You’d set the table yourself. The napkins folded into little origami roses. The teacups were chosen specifically. And the snacks—oh god, the snacks—you’d agonized over them for hours.

Charlie liked sweet things, but not too sweet. So you’d made strawberry-glazed scones, carefully dusted with powdered sugar. Lucifer liked caramel apples, so you’d crafted miniature chocolate cakes with molten centers of apple jelly, just enough to stain the tongue crimson, just like he enjoyed.

You forced yourself to smile. “I, um… I wasn’t sure what everyone liked, but I tried to make things you’d enjoy.”

Charlie looked up sharply. Not in a bad way—just startled, like you’d said something deeply important without realizing it.

“Oh,” she said. “You… you didn’t have to do that. But thank you. They look… really pretty.”

You smiled—awkward and a little too wide. “I practiced the glaze four times. The first batch came out more like… strawberry glue.”

Charlie let out a quick, breathy laugh before she could stop herself.

Lucifer raised his brows and clapped once, dramatically. “Well! I, for one, am thrilled. You spoil us too much, my love.”

He grabbed a molten cake, took a large bite, and groaned with exaggerated bliss. “Oh, darling, you’ve truly outdone yourself. I feel like I’m falling for you again.”

You turned pink and nearly choked on your tea.

You smiled too hard. “I’m just glad to be here. With you both. I really am.”

And you meant it. You meant it so much it hurt.

Charlie shifted, finally taking a scone. There was a beat of silence. Charlie took a bite. “OH MY GOD!” Charlie squealed. “This is too good!”

Your heart just about exploded. You smiled into your cup. A little crooked. A little relieved.

Charlie looked up from her scone, glancing between the two of you—how her dad’s hand had drifted to yours, giving your hand a squeeze, how he didn’t stop smiling at you, or how his eyes always returned to you.

She smiled to herself and reached for another scone.

Chapter 7: Gender swap Lucifer x Reader

Summary:

Anonymous asked:
Can I ask please for like (Sub!)Lucifer x FEM(!Dom)! Reader? But, BUT! What if Lucifer, likes to explore new things, curious also wondering, ask Y/n (maybe during mid-making out, heh) if they can like change they're gender and fully swap roles?

Notes:

Notes: This is such a unique request and I loved writing it! I tried lol so pls spare me. Credits of images rest with the editors! Since you didn't mention you wanted nsfw, but included sub/dom, so I'm doing both sfw and nsfw(will be under cut).

Lucifer laughed, breathless and flushed, as you leaned in to press another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

You were curled up with him, limbs tangled lazily. His jacket was abandoned somewhere on the floor, bowtie undone and hanging uselessly around his neck. "You've got that look again," he said, blinking up at you with a dopey smile. “Like you’re about to kiss me stupid.”

“Wouldn’t dream of stopping,” you murmured, brushing your nose against his.

And you didn’t. You kissed him slowly, thoroughly, until he was giggling again into your mouth, his hands sliding up your back, clutching gently.

He let out a whimpery little laugh as your hands slipped beneath his shirt, palms skating over his ribs. The heat started to build, your bodies shifting together with more urgency now, the kisses getting deeper, needier, slower in a way that said neither of you wanted to come up for air just yet.

And then—Lucifer froze. Just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. But you noticed the subtle hitch in his breath. The way his fingers twitched at your waist. The way he was thinking now, instead of feeling.

You leaned back just an inch. “Lucifer?”

He looked at you with those star-struck eyes, but hesitating.

“I, uh…” He laughed nervously. “Can I say something kinda… weird?”

You tilted your head. “Of course.”

Lucifer sat up a little, biting his bottom lip. He looked everywhere but at you. “So I’ve been thinking lately,” he began, way too fast, “about trying new things. Different roles. Different me’s. Not just in bed—though yes—but, um… more than that.”

You watched him gently, waiting.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Like, what if I weren’t… you know. This me. What if I were… a different version of me? Not a man. Just… me, but changed. New shape.”

He stopped. Winced. “Oh God, that sounded way cooler in my head. I knew I was going to make it weird—”

“Lucifer.”

“I'm sorry! I just—listen, I’ve tried so many things in my eternal existence and this is something I’ve never really—well, I have thought about it, but not with anyone, and I figured if anyone would be open to it it’d be you, but–”

You kissed him. Not to shut him up this time, but to tell him he was safe. That you understood.

When you pulled back, you smiled and cupped his cheek, brushing your thumb gently under his eye. “You want to try something new?” you said softly. “Something that feels more like you?”

He nodded, eyes wide, hopeful, nervous.

“Then I’m in,” you whispered. “Wherever you go, I’ll go with you.”

Lucifer stared at you, lips parted, expression stunned. Then he let out a shaky laugh. “You really are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Lucifer had vanished behind the dressing room curtain with his usual flourish, muttering something about “artistic reinvention” while you sat patiently nearby. You would’ve liked to see how he changed, but he insisted he would be too nervous then.

You looked up, as he entered. For a moment… you didn’t breathe.

He —She stood there—Lucifer, still unmistakably him, but different now. More curved, more delicate, her blonde hair cascading in loose waves past her shoulders. 

She fidgeted, one hand hovered awkwardly at her hip. The other rubbed the back of her neck. “…Well?” she said, voice a touch higher, still unmistakably Lucifer but now with a different lilt. “Do I look ridiculous?”

You stood up slowly, walking toward her without saying a word.

Lucifer braced herself but instead, you reached out and cupped her face. Your thumb brushed along her cheekbone. “You look beautiful,” you whispered.

She blinked. “Beautiful?” she echoed, like the word had never been said to her like that before.

“Stunning. Mesmerizing. Drop-dead gorgeous. Want me to keep going?”

Lucifer gave a nervous laugh, cheeks turning a bright golden. You laughed, pulling her into a gentle hug. Her body fit against yours in a new way now but all the warmth was exactly the same.

You pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “You feel more like yourself this way, don’t you?”

Lucifer nodded slowly. “Today, yeah, I think I do.”

“And I’m really glad I get to see you like this.”

There was a pause.

“…Even if I don’t know what to do with my boobs yet,” she mumbled.

You grinned. “I can help you with that.”

Lucifer gasped. “Scandalous!”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against hers, smiling. “You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Lucifer sighed into your mouth as you guided her gently back toward the bed, step by step, your hands never leaving her waist. Her new frame trembled slightly under your touch, though not from fear. From anticipation. Every glance you gave her was a caress. Every kiss, a promise.

She fell back onto the silk sheets with a quiet laugh, legs still draped over the edge. Her jacket had been discarded somewhere on the way to the mattress, her shirt hung open just enough to tease. 

You crawled over her, slow and deliberate, until you were hovering above her. Lucifer’s breath hitched. Her hands lifted to your sides, gripping you lightly, like she still wasn’t quite sure this was real.

You leaned down again, brushing your lips just barely over her jaw. “Luci?”

“Hm?” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut at your touch.

“Can I take this further?” you asked softly. “I need to hear it from you.”

She stilled beneath you for a moment, opening her eyes. “Yes,” she whispered, voice steady this time. “Please.”

With a smile, you kissed her again, deep and claiming and began to undress her piece by piece. You didn’t rush. This wasn’t about just intimacy but about letting her know that this version of her, too, was wanted and desired.

Lucifer whimpered beneath you as your fingers grazed new curves, your mouth following close behind. She squirmed at the sensations—so familiar, yet wildly different in this new skin. But never once did she pull away. And you—god, you were so careful. So hungry and loving and patient all at once. 

You dipped your head and took one golden peak into your mouth. Lucifer’s back arching as a startled moan tore from her throat. Her hands flew to your hair instinctively, fingers threading through with trembling reverence.

“Oh, god,” she whimpered, voice pitched and ragged. “You’re—ohhh—mmngh…”

Your tongue circled the sensitive nub, slow and deliberate. You sucked gently, and Lucifer’s thighs pressed together with a helpless whine. 

Her flushed chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths, golden nipples still glistening from your mouth’s attention. Your hand slid slowly down her side, fingers tracing the curve of her waist, the soft slope of her hip. She shivered, hips twitching slightly as your palm eased lower.

“You’re trembling,” you murmured against her throat, kissing just below her ear.

“I—Fuck—” Lucifer gasped, arching into you.

Your hand slipped beneath the hem of her dress.

Lucifer’s words turned into a strangled whimper as your fingers ghosted over the soaked heat between her thighs, her entire body jolting with the contact.

“Oh—oh god,” she breathed, voice cracking around the edges. “You… you’re not wasting any time, are you?”

You grinned, slow and dangerous, nipping at her ear. “You’re already soaked, love.”

Lucifer threw her head back with a groan, hiding her blushing face in the crook of her elbow. “You don’t have to say it like that—!”

“But it’s true,” you teased, fingers pressing a little more firmly now, stroking slow circles on her clit. “You’re absolutely dripping for me.”

Her legs instinctively parted wider, offering herself with a breathless shudder. She bit her lip to keep in a moan, but you leaned down and kissed it away. Lucifer finally let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, wrapping her arms around your neck to pull you closer. “Please… don’t stop.”

Your fingers moved with slow, deliberate precision, stroking through the slick heat you found between her legs, teasing the sensitive spot that made her hips jerk and her thighs clamp around your wrist. The fabric of her dress was hiked up now, bunched around her waist, forgotten in the fever of the moment.

You leaned over her, lips at her ear. “You’re doing so well for me, Luci.”

“You’re so sensitive,” you murmured as your fingers slipped past her soaked folds, easing inside with practiced care. “So soft. So wet. This body was made to be loved like this.”

“Don’t say things like that,” she gasped.

“Why?” You curled your fingers just right, and her thighs twitched. “Because you’ll come?”

“Yes!” she sobbed.

You pressed your lips to her neck, whispering, “Then let go. I’ve got you. Just let it happen.”

Your thumb found her swollen bundle of nerves and rubbed gently, in perfect time with the motion of your fingers inside her. The wet sounds of your touch filled the room, mingling with her gasps and little whimpering cries as her body climbed higher and higher, teetering on the edge.

Her hand covered her mouth, eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to hold back the noise rising in her throat.

You gently pulled her hand away. “Let me hear you,” you said, voice firm but tender. “Don’t hide from me.”

Her body convulsed under your touch as her orgasm tore through her with a sharp, desperate cry, her hands fisting in the sheets, mouth open in a wordless moan as she rode every wave of it.

And when it was over, when her body finally sagged back into the mattress, boneless and breathless, a dazed smile on her lips, you kissed her temple and eased your fingers free, holding her gently as she curled into your arms.

Lucifer blinked up at you with tears in her eyes and a flush still painted across her cheeks.

“I… that was…” she tried to speak, but her voice failed her.

You smiled, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. “Perfect?”

She gave a small, dazed laugh. “Yeah. That.”

You kissed her again, slow and sweet. “You deserve to feel this good,” you whispered. “Always.”

Chapter 8: Angel Dust x Platonic Human Witch! Reader Part 2

The night air stung your lungs as you ran.

Branches whipped against your arms, cutting into skin already scraped raw from falling more times than you could count. Mud splattered up your legs. Your cloak was gone, torn off somewhere back when you'd tripped in the underbrush. Footsteps thundered behind you. Too close.

"Don't let her get to the circle!"

"She’s bleeding, she can’t have gone far—"

You didn’t have time. Your magic was flickering, frayed by exhaustion. The sigils you'd drawn on your skin were beginning to fade, and your connection to Hell—the only place you felt safe anymore—was growing thinner by the second.

“Come on,” you whispered, slipping behind a fallen tree, heart hammering. Your fingers trembled as you drew a jagged circle on your palm with a splinter of bone. “Angel… please be there.”

In Hell, Angel Dust was lounging in a beanbag chair, smoking and watching reruns of an old telenovela. His phone buzzed once. Twice.

He almost ignored it. Then it buzzed again. Red glow. Magic-tethered. That kind of call.

Angel sat up.

“Shit,” he muttered, snatching the phone and squinting at the name. “Doll?”

Behind you, torchlight flickered—closer, closing in. They were chanting now, that sick low chorus they always used before a ritual. You knew what they wanted. Your magic. Your body. Your soul.

“ANGEL!” you screamed. “They're here! I—I don't know where I am, I can’t breathe—please, I need you, please—”

Angel’s eyes widened. "Whoa—Doll, slow down, I—Shit! Hold on! Just hang on, baby, I’m coming, I got you—"

Branches cracked behind you...then hands. They grabbed at your cloak, yanking you back. You kicked and screamed, thrashing like a wild animal. Fingers tangled in your hair, yanking you upright. A voice, too close, too calm: “We got her. Bitch's done running.”

“No!” you screamed, clawing at them. “Get off me!”

Rough hands grabbed your ankles, your wrists—someone flipped you onto your back and pinned you down. A knee crushed your chest.

“Heh,” a man chuckled, breath hot against your cheek. “Not so clever now, are ya, witch?”

You blinked past the blood running into your eye. Five of them.

They dragged you into the centre of the clearing, where a grotesque ritual circle was already drawn in the dirt—bones, black candles, and raw flesh littered the edges. Waiting for you.

“For centuries, we’ve waited,” a robed woman intoned, voice like a priestess drunk on her own poison. “Your bloodline is ancient. Pure. Born with magic too potent to waste on mortal age.”

They forced you to your knees.

You didn’t scream.

You didn’t beg.

They pinned your arms out wide, like a broken doll being offered to the gods.

You smiled, blood trickling down your chin. “If you want my magic,” you hissed, “you better pray to whatever false god you worship that I die before I wake up. Or I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth.”

The man raised the blade again, its hilt humming, forged to cut soul from bone.

He didn’t get the chance to swing.

A sound like tearing metal split the air. The world twisted as a red-hot portal ripped open between you and the men. The air roared with heat and sulphur and then: “Get your grubby hands off her, assholes.”

A tall figure stepped through—fur white, heels clacking, four arms cocked and ready, every one holding a gun.

Angel Dust.

He opened fire without hesitation.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Gunfire lit the trees. Men screamed and scattered as bullets tore through them like paper. One was hit square in the chest, flying backward into the underbrush with a choked cry. Another tried to run—Angel shot him in the leg and then again in the back as he fell.

“YEAH, RUN! Daddy’s home, you fuckin’ creeps!”

You were still on the ground, wide-eyed, shaking, blood running down your cheek as your magic flickered around your fingers—instinctively trying to shield yourself.

You were still on the ground, trembling from adrenaline. Your eyes were wide, unblinking, unfocused. He dropped to his knees beside you. “Doll?”

You didn’t respond. Not until he gently touched your cheek, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers.

That’s when you blinked. “…Angel?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.” His voice cracked. “I gotcha.”

“I didn’t scream,” you whispered, more to yourself. “Even when they cut me.”

“I know you didn’t,” he said, voice raw. “You were badass. You’re the fuckin’ toughest bitch I know.”

Angel's expression softened instantly. “Hey, hey…” he rushed to you, holstering his guns and wrapping all his arms around you tightly. “It’s okay, Doll. I’m here. You're safe now. I got you.”

You collapsed into his arms without a word. You sighed. Four arms are great for hugs.

Chapter 9: Alastor x f! Evil Reader

Summary:

Anonymous asked:
Can you write a one-shot of Alastor x fem! Sinner! reader who he finds out is even more evil than he is and he helps her to become an Overlord?

Notes:

Notes: I was really in predicament, like how to make someone more evil than Al lolol

CW: Canon-Typical Violence

Alastor hummed as he walked, his polished cane along with him. A familiar tune from a long-dead jazz standard escaped his lips, broken only when he tuned into the conversation echoing from a nearby.

“—saw her rip the guy’s tongue out and laugh while he choked on it—didn’t even blink.”

Many whispered, almost reverently. “Not even the Exterminators wanna mess with her. She feeds on fear, they say. The more you scream, the more powerful she gets.”

Alastor stopped mid-step. His grin, ever-present, curved a touch higher at the corners.

“Oh?” he murmured.

The voices as he walked, laced with both awe and dread. The streetlamp above his head fizzled out as he passed beneath it. "A fellow artist," he mused aloud, twirling his cane. "Now that’s rare."

He didn’t care much for Hell’s current crop of Overlords. Too loud. Too desperate. Too predictable. But this... her legend didn’t reek of overcompensation or bravado. It was spoken in hushed voices.

The kind of fear that couldn’t be faked.

The kind of evil that couldn’t be taught.

"I do love a woman with a streak of violence," he whispered to himself, stepping into a thin puddle of blood that reflected the neon skyline in ripples. His eyes flickered crimson, glowing brighter for a moment.

Perhaps it was time he introduced himself. “Let’s see what all the fuss is about, shall we?”

*

He heard it before he saw it: wet, meat-tearing sounds; metal scraping bone; a ragged gurgle of someone desperately trying to scream through a shattered jaw.

And then—A woman’s voice. Your voice.

“You wanted me to smile for you? Come on, darling, it's your turn now. Smile! You’ve got such a pretty mouth. Or had one.”

Alastor turned the corner and paused, one brow arched in silent admiration.

There you stood, knee-deep in blood, elbow buried in a wailing demon’s stomach. Your dress, once white, was now soaked red. Around you, the remains of what had once been a high-ranking crime boss’s entourage were strewn across the alley like broken marionettes, limbs twisted into artless, agonized shapes.

Alastor clapped. A slow, deliberate, entirely amused clap.

“Well, well, well,” he said, stepping out of the shadows. “What a show! You’ve got talent, darling. True, unfiltered horror. You made me stop walking just to watch— now that doesn’t happen often.”

You turned, your eyes sharp and dangerous. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?”

Alastor didn’t flinch. In fact, he beamed wider. “Oh, don’t be modest—you know who I am. Everyone does. But I’ll play along. Alastor. Though some prefer The Radio Demon.”

You rose from the corpse in a slow, graceful motion, blood dripping from your fingers. “And you’re here why? To interrupt my fun?”

“Oh no no no,” he said with mock offense, stepping closer. “Quite the opposite. I’m here because I think you’re magnificent.”

You stared at him, lip curled. “You got a thing for women who gut people like fish?”

“No,” Alastor said smoothly, “I have a thing for potential. And you, my dear? You’re practically screaming with it.”

He twirled his cane, boots crunching over broken teeth as he stepped closer. “You have rage. You have vision. You’re feared, which is good… but fear only gets you so far. You’re wild now—unrefined. No strategy. No influence. And if you want to become an Overlord, that won’t be enough.”

You crossed your arms, head cocked. “So what, you came to give me a pep talk? Or are you here to kill me?”

He grinned wider. “I’m here to offer you guidance.”

You barked a laugh. “Why the hell would you help me?”

Alastor's smile didn’t waver, but something in his voice dropped an octave. “Because I’m not blind. In Hell, power shifts always. And allies are so very important if you want to remain on the top.”

He paused, then leaned slightly forward. “And I wouldn’t mind having you by my side.”

Silence. Your eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, good!” he said, delighted. “That means you’re smarter than most. But consider this—if I wanted you dead, you'd already be. I’m offering you tools. Connections. Tactics. The game behind the blood. You’ve conquered the battlefield.”

He tapped his cane. “Now I’ll teach you how to conquer the board.”

You didn’t answer immediately. You looked back at the mutilated bodies, then at your blood-soaked hands.

Then you looked at him and smirked. “…Fine. But the second you try to play me, I’ll tear your spine out through your mouth.”

Alastor laughed. “Perfect! Let’s get started.”

_______________________

Years passed in Hell.

Alastor taught you the invisible language of Hell: how to navigate the backstabbing etiquette of Pride; how to make sinners bow with a smile instead of a blade. He taught you to wield fear like a violin—fine, deliberate, haunting.

Together, you wiped out other weaker Overlords, rewrote territory lines, made many fall on their knees.

It was on one such night.

Alastor stood beside you, his hands behind his back, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “I must say,” he murmured, “you’ve exceeded my expectations.”

You smirked, sipping from a wineglass filled with something thicker than wine. “What, didn’t think I’d survive?”

“Oh, I thought you’d survive,” he said with a chuckle. “But I didn’t expect to enjoy your company so much.”

You turned your head. He didn’t look at you but his smile had softened, just slightly.

"You always talk in riddles," you murmured.

"And you always see through them," he replied. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “You’ve become… remarkable."

“I had a good teacher,” you said quietly.

That made him pause.

He turned to face you fully, and for the first time in a long time, the space between you felt different. Like a wire pulled taut.

You saw it in his eyes. There was curiosity still, yes, but now layered with something harder to name. Something hesitant and warm and real.

“…You don’t need me anymore,” he said, not with pride, but something heavier.

“I know,” you replied. “But I still want you by my side.”

He blinked. Then he laughed, short, startled, almost genuine. “Well. Isn’t that dangerous?”

You smiled, stepping close, your fingers brushing his fingers. “That’s the fun part.”

For once, he didn’t pull away.

Chapter 10: Vaggie x f! Hellhound Reader

Summary:

fernstarsblog asked:
Can you write Vaggie x hellhound!Female!reader who is quite peaceful and calm?

🩶You're one of the very few who can calm her down mid-rant. She can be in the middle of her rant–"Can you BELIEVE Angel—" and you’ll gently place a hand on her shoulder, and suddenly she’s breathing slower. Not less angry, but… grounded.

🩶 You’re big, soft-furred, and always warm to the touch. Vaggie lowkey uses you as a heated blanket but denies it.

🩶 You have excellent hearing, and often sneak up behind her like a silent shadow. Vaggie acts annoyed, but secretly finds it hot.

🩶 You’re a cuddler. Like big spoon, wrap-around-her-entire-body cuddler. Vaggie initially resisted but now sleeps like a baby in your arms.

🩶 You carry her when she’s tired. Bridal style. She pretends to hate it, but doesn’t make you stop.

🩶 Vaggie always tries to be the protector, but when she gets hurt, you treat her with such quiet tenderness it makes her cry. She never thought someone would be gentle with her like that.

🩶 When someone flirts with you, her eye twitches and her hand instinctively reaches for her spear.

🩶 She has a hairbrush just for you. Brushing your fur is one of her love languages now. She pretends it’s to “keep it from shedding” but she finds it soothing.

🩶 The moment you realize she was part of the exterminations, your entire body goes still. You don’t cry or shout. Just pure, controlled silence.

🩶 You’re more hurt by the deception than the past itself. Your trust isn’t easy to earn and she shattered it by hiding something so major.

🩶 You walk away to process, your usual calm becomes cold and unreadable.

🩶 Eventually, when Vaggie admits the full truth, you tell her: “You could’ve told me. I would’ve carried it with you. But you chose to carry it alone.”

🩶 You don’t forgive her instantly, but you don’t leave either.

🩶 You’re the type to walk into a room and immediately scan for her, even subconsciously. Once your eyes meet, your tail sways just slightly.

🩶 Vaggie loves when you lay your head in her lap and let her stroke your hair. You only do that when you trust someone fully.

🩶 “Did your tail just wag?”

You: “…No."

She teases you about it for days. You pretend to hate it. But your tail wags again.

Chapter 11: Alastor x Chubby! Reader

Summary:

Anonymous asked:
may I please request a human alastor x sweet chubby reader were the reader is self conscious about her body but alastor tells her how he really feels and how he secretly likes bigger women they soon get married and reunite in hell were everyone in the hotel finds out that alastor has a wife

The warm glow of the radio studio bathed your face in amber as you stood in the corner, watching him again—Alastor, the radiant star of New Orleans. He always had an old-fashioned elegance to him: suspenders neat, smile charming, and eyes far too sharp for someone who claimed to be harmless.

You liked to help out behind the scenes, fetching coffee or scribbling script notes. But today, he noticed how you lingered by the wall.

“Ah, there you are, mon chéri,” Alastor chirped, striding over with a grin that crinkled his eyes. “Why so quiet today?”

You gave a small smile, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Oh… nothing, I guess. Just tired.”

He tilted his head, catching the deflection instantly. “Hmm. Untruths don’t suit you.” His tone softened. “Tell me.”

You bit your lip, averting your gaze. “I just... don't understand how someone like you can stand being around someone like me.”

He blinked. “Someone like you?”

“I’m not... beautiful. Not like the girls always hanging around here. I'm too soft, too round, I—” You looked down, cheeks burning. “It’s silly. I’m sorry.”

A strange silence filled the room.

Then—

“May I speak freely, my dear?” His voice, for once, was gentle. “I've kept this under my hat for too long.”

You looked up, surprised. Alastor stepped closer, his gloved hands twitching nervously for the first time.

“I like soft,” he said honestly. “I like the way your arms feel when I hug you. I like the way your cheeks puff when you smile, and the way your hips sway when you walk. I like how you hold warmth like a hearth in winter. I've never understood why people treat softness as a flaw.”

You blinked fast. “You… really feel that way?”

“I don’t lie, sweetheart. It’s beneath me.”

You let out a teary laugh, and he smiled wide. “There it is. That smile. Makes me feel like I've won a prize.”

You married Alastor in a modest ceremony weeks later. His hands trembled as he slid the ring on your finger. “I’m not a good man,” he warned softly that night.

You smiled teasingly, tilting your head upwards. "You're not getting out of this either way."

You stayed by his side, even when strange absences and darker rumours started to whisper around town. You never asked where he went on long nights. He always came back—blood under his nails sometimes, but his smile saved for you.

You didn't manage to get any answers from him; he was too expert to diverting, and he was always so attentive when he returned home that you would let it go always.

And then, one day, he didn’t come back.

The reports were grim: Alastor, dead shot after being chased by police dogs. No leads. No goodbyes.

*

Hell was overwhelming—flames, noise, sin in the air like perfume.

You weren’t a violent soul, and couldn't find a possible explanation for your soul to be sent to hell. Sure, you weren't that religious, but does that damn you here?

You wandered for months. Until one day… you found it. The hotel. A strange place, promising redemption.

The moment you stepped inside, everything stopped. And then, across the grand lobby, you heard that laugh.

It couldn’t be.

You turned. He stood by the low light, suit immaculate, eyes glowing red and wide in disbelief. The Radio Demon himself… frozen.

“…Sweetheart?” He could recognize you anywhere, in any form.

You ran to him. He caught you in his arms. Gloved hands cupped your face, as if afraid you’d vanish. “You’re here,” he whispered.

“I’m here.”

He kissed you hard, breathless and real, as the others in the hotel gawked.

Charlie gasped. “Alastor has a wife?!”

Angel Dust practically fell off the couch. “THE Radio Demon is married?!”

Vaggie just stared. “He’s capable of love?!”

But Alastor paid them no mind. He spun you around in a dramatic waltz, laughing giddily.

“Its as if time had stopped, and now that you're here...I feel alive again, chérie.”

You smiled, holding his lapels. “So… you’re some sort of overlord now?”

“Oh, the usual murder, madness, and mayhem,” he said with a wink. “But I’ve missed my favourite pastime: being yours.”

*

Charlie was doing her best. Really. But nothing prepared her for the walking nightmare that was your husband, Alastor the Radio Demon, currently looming over a terrified, twitchy sinner near the front desk.

Charlie winced. “Alastor, could you please not traumatize the new guests? We’re trying to rehabilitate, not harass.”

Alastor’s only response was to flicker his radio dial and growl a string of garbled jazz static, his antlers crackling.

Charlie looked around, desperate. Her eyes found you, sitting comfortably on the lobby couch with a book in your lap and a slice of cake next to you.

She practically begged with her eyes: “Help me.”

You sighed with a fond smile and closed your book, not even raising your voice.

“Darling?” you called sweetly. “Could you come here a sec? I need something.”

Alastor froze mid-hover, ears perking sharply like a startled deer. His head whipped toward you with sudden attention.

“Yes, my love!” he chirped.

In the blink of an eye, the shadows dropped, the green glow vanished, and he was beside you, kneeling slightly with clasped hands. “What do you need, mon amour? Tea? Someone eliminated?”

Charlie stared. The feathered sinner stared.

You smiled as you handed him a spoon. “I just needed you to get me another bite of cake, handsome.”

Alastor’s eyes sparkled. “Ah, the most noble of quests! Your wish is my command!”

He practically skipped off to the kitchen like he hadn’t just been seconds away from breaking a sinner.

Charlie exhaled in disbelief. You leaned back on the couch, sipping your tea with a grin as you felt everyone's eyes on you.

Vaggie narrowed her eyes. “That was disturbing.”

“Disturbingly whipped,” Angel muttered under his breath.

When Alastor returned, balancing a fresh slice of cake

on a tray with a flourish, he bowed before you like a waiter at a five-star restaurant. “For madame, only the finest baked delight Hell can offer!”

You gave him a peck on the cheek. “You’re the best.”

Meanwhile, the rest of the hotel staff exchanged stunned looks.

Charlie whispered, “Okay... she might be the only person who can actually control him.”

And from where he rested, eyes soft only for you, Alastor smirked. “Control me? Nonsense. I simply listen to the only voice that matters.”

Chapter 12: Vox x Siren! Reader

Summary:

Anonymous asked:
Haii i know ur requests r closed but I just wanted to put this in here bc I feel like im gonna forget it hear me out vox x mermaid (or siren) reader he keeps in his big fish tank with all his sharkies

Notes:

CW: Just fluff

📺 Vox had been dating you for a while now. He liked your company, but there was one thing he’d never said: I love you. Not because he didn’t feel it, but because he told himself it was too big, too binding, too real. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to give you that power over him yet. With you, he feels the pull, but he keeps stalling, convincing himself that he needs more time to “evaluate.” That’s how he phrases it in his head: evaluate. Measure. Decide. Like love could ever be dissected into a business model.

📺 That conviction cracked the moment he heard your laugh—sharp, delighted, utterly unguarded while strolling beside him in his tower. It was pure, excited joy, bubbling out of you as your gaze shot toward the glass walls of his massive tank. “Vox! Your sharks are so cute!” you exclaimed, pressing closer to the glass.

📺 You turned to him, eyes sparkling, and asked without hesitation, “Can I go in? Please? Just for a swim with them?” Vox blinked. Normally, he would’ve smirked and shot back a sarcastic, You’ve got a death wish, doll? But instead, he found himself nodding, surprising even himself. “Knock yourself out, sweetheart.”

📺 You climbed up with effortless grace and dove into the tank. The moment you hit the water, your legs shimmered and twisted, reforming into a gorgeous, iridescent tail. Vox’s smirk faltered into something wide-eyed and unguarded. He had seen you in your siren form before, but never like this—never surrounded by his sharks, never moving so freely in his world. You didn’t look trapped. You looked at home.

📺 The sharks, usually predatory and restless, circled around you in synchronized, curious arcs. Instead of fearing them, you reached out, brushing your fingers along their sleek bodies as though they were oversized pets. You laughed again, bubbles spiralling from your lips, and even through the glass Vox could feel how happy you were.

📺 Something shifted inside him right then. He leaned against the glass, hands shoved deep in his pockets, but his expression softened in a way it rarely ever did. Shit. His chest tightened, and the realization slammed into him like a power surge: he loved you. Not as a possession he kept in a tank or a beautiful siren he could show off. He loved you.

📺 You noticed him watching, because of course you did. You were always sharper than people gave you credit for. With a playful smile, you swam toward the glass, your hair floating around you like ink in water. You pressed your palm to the barrier and traced a heart shape with your fingertip. Your lips curled into a grin as you tilted your head, waiting for him to react.

📺 Vox chuckled, low and genuine. He lifted his own hand and placed it over yours on the opposite side of the glass.

📺 He didn’t say it, not yet. But he knew. He knew that the next time he said “I love this” or “I love that” on-screen for show, it wouldn’t mean anything compared to when he finally said those words to you. He’d make it real, make it monumental, because for once in his life, love wasn’t just a performance.

📺 He didn’t need more “time.” He didn’t need to measure or evaluate or calculate. His heart had already decided, and the realization hit him harder than any signal surge. He loved you. Helplessly. Completely.

Chapter 13: Chaggie x gn! Reader

Summary:

wolf-oc asked:
Hi👋so hope you’re having a great day and or night

I was wondering if you might be willing to do headcanons ploy Chaggie x sinner reader who used to be in a relationship with a Yandere/abusive partner when they were alive and who’s sin is that they killed their ex to get away from them and when they found how they would react and if they met reader’s Yandere ex and just how they would act in relationship with someone who had been though that

Sorry if this is to dark for you if it is just ignore me and thanks for reading

Notes:

CW: Abusive relationship with ex

Discovering your past

• At first, Charlie would be heartbroken when she learns about your past. She’s empathetic by nature, so she immediately tries to comfort you: lots of gentle touches, reassurance, and a promise that you’re safe now.
• Vaggie’s reaction is a lot sharper. She’s furious—not at you, but at what you went through. Her protective instincts flare up, and she makes it clear to you that if your ex ever shows up in Hell, she’ll personally handle them.
• When you admit that your sin was killing your ex, Charlie doesn’t judge you. She knows the context, and to her, it’s not something evil, it was survival. Vaggie outright agrees; she doesn’t condone murder in general, but in this case? She quietly thinks you were justified.

In the relationship

• Both of them are very mindful of your boundaries. Charlie is always checking in: “Is this okay?” “Do you feel safe?” She doesn’t want to accidentally make you uncomfortable.
• Vaggie helps you rebuild confidence in yourself. She encourages you to speak up, to be assertive, to know that no one can control you again.
• They both make you feel wanted in different ways: Charlie showers you with affection and positivity, while Vaggie shows her love through protection and loyalty. You feel safe and cherished with them.
• Whenever you get nervous or triggered, Charlie holds you close and distracts you with soft, sweet words, while Vaggie keeps a sharp eye on anyone around who might be causing the reaction.

If your yandere ex turned up in Hell

• Charlie would first try to reason with them, in true Charlie fashion. She’d tell them to stay away from you, that you deserve peace, and that what they did to you was unforgivable. But of course if they are persistent, Charlie will resort to violence to protect you. Your ex wouldn't stand a chance.
• Vaggie, though? Absolutely not tolerant. If your ex got anywhere near you, she’d put herself between you and them immediately: weapon in hand, eyes blazing. Her patience for “talking” would run out fast.
• And if your ex tried the old yandere manipulations—guilt-tripping, gaslighting, etc., Charlie would shut it down instantly, reminding you out loud of your worth and how far you’ve come. Vaggie would make it very clear that they won’t get another chance to touch you.

Over time, they help you replace those memories with better ones. Where once your heart carried fear, now it carries warmth, laughter, and a fierce, protective love that surrounds you every day.

Chapter 14: Velvette x Reader

Summary:

bobbi-tankthrust asked:
HEY STAR

So I had an idea for a Velvette x reader (idk if it's any good) where reader used to work for Valentino but when they met Velvette and they got together, she made him release their contract.

Feel free to ignore if it's a bad idea tho xx

The dressing room smelled of smoke and cheap perfume, the scent clinging to your skin no matter how many times you scrubbed yourself raw. Valentino liked his workers looking flawless, polished, and always on call, and you were no exception. Day after day blurred into a haze of forced smiles, aching muscles, and the knowledge that every ounce of energy you gave him only fed his ego, never your own freedom.

Your contract was written in ink you hadn’t even been allowed to read. You’d signed it out of desperation, and Val had made sure to remind you that you belonged to him. When you weren’t performing, you were running errands, modelling, or just standing at his side like some sort of accessory.

It was on one of those nights, another endless shoot where your smile cracked only when the camera turned away, that you first noticed her. Velvette, sweeping into the studio in her oversized sunglasses and glittering stilettos, her phone flashing every few seconds as she scrolled. She didn’t even need to try; the room bent to her presence.

At first, she was just another Overlord, and that alone was enough to make your chest tighten. Overlords were dangerous, untouchable, and selfish. You knew because you worked under one. But when her sharp eyes landed on you, a spark lit in her smile, and you swore she tilted her phone just to get you in the frame.

Over the next few jobs, she started hanging around more. Always casual, always pretending she wasn’t watching you. Yet you caught her gaze drifting over, lingering a little too long when you thought no one noticed. You told yourself it was just Velvette being Velvette—she liked pretty things, and Valentino’s crew was full of them.

But then she started talking to you. A comment about your outfit, a joke whispered while Val yelled at some poor assistant, a wink that felt like a secret between the two of you. Her presence was disarming, not because she was kind, but because she seemed to see you.

You tried not to let it get under your skin. You had seen how easily charm could become a chain. Val had been charming too, once. And hadn’t that ended with you trapped under his contract, unable to breathe? Every time Velvette leaned in close, your stomach fluttered, and then the fear followed, cold and choking.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel lighter around her. She cracked through the grey of your days. She started texting you directly, little memes and snaps that had nothing to do with work. Sometimes you laughed out loud at them, only to clamp a hand over your mouth so Val wouldn’t notice.

The first time she caught you crying backstage, she didn’t mock you. She just crouched down, handed you a tissue, and said, “He’s not worth your tears, babe.” The words weren’t soft, but they were grounding.

And yet, the unease gnawed at you. Overlords were power incarnate. They didn’t give without taking. What if this was another trap? You didn’t think you could survive another cage.

Velvette seemed to sense it. One night after a long shoot, she cornered you in the hallway, her voice uncharacteristically serious. “I know you’re scared,” she said, crossing her arms. “But I’m not Valentino. If you stay with me, it will always be because you want to. Got it?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, the weight of her words slamming into you. Want. The concept felt foreign. Val never gave you choices. Velvette was holding out a promise, and you didn’t know if you were brave enough to take it.

Things shifted after that. She was still Velvette—snappy, loud, teasing but she also checked in on you, making sure you ate, pulling you out of the studio when Val pushed too hard. When he tried to drag you into another all-night job, she cut in, saying, “Not happening. She’s with me.” And Val, for once, backed down, gritting his teeth.

Then came the day she’d clearly been planning for. You were perched on a stool in Val’s office, exhaustion dragging at your shoulders, when Velvette strutted in like she owned the place. She dropped a folder on his desk and said, “We’re done playing, Val. Release her contract.”

You watched, wide-eyed, as the two titans clashed. Val’s sneer faltered, just for a second, and then he grabbed the contract from his drawer. He didn’t even look at you as he tore it down the middle.

Velvette snatched the pieces, tossed them in the air like confetti, and turned to you with a wink. “There. You’re free. No more cages.”

Your knees felt weak. Free. The word echoed in your skull, impossible and dizzying. You looked at her, searching for the trap, the hidden cost but all you saw was the smug, satisfied smirk of someone who had fought for you and won.

She hooked her arm through yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “C’mon, babe. Let’s get you out of this dump. You’ve wasted enough of your shine here.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself breathe. And maybe, just maybe, you let yourself hope too.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of My Collection of One-Shots